


Yonder Stands Your Orphan

by falafelfiction



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falafelfiction/pseuds/falafelfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Felina fic. Jesse is desperate to leave his life of crime behind him and yet crime is the only means of survival that he knows. What will it take for Jesse to break free from the person he has been?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yonder Stands Your Orphan

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, this is the first part of my post-Felina Jesse fic that has very little to do with Alaska or Brock. Thanks to heyjupiter and celeryy who both offered to beta for me on the same day and so I ended up saying yes both. Thank you for your invaluable insights and support throughout the writing of this fic.
> 
>  _“You must leave now, take what you need, what you think will last._  
>  _Whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast,_  
>  _Yonder stands your orphan with his gun_  
>  _Crying like a fire in the sun_  
>  _Look out the saints are coming through_  
>  _And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.”_ (Bob Dylan)

 

Jesse had just wanted to hear music again.

A little driving music, that’s all. Music was one those things that Jesse hadn’t realized could be taken away from him for so long. So the sudden remembrance that the car had a radio and that radios played music was enough to make Jesse’s heart leap as he fumbled with the dials. Any music would do, he thought. He had been driving for a few hours now with only his own deranged laughter to accompany him. He thought a little music might chill him out. He didn’t think turning the radio on would fuck him up so bad.

_“...receiving live updates on the mass shooting of at least seven men believed to have been running a methamphetamine syndicate from an industrial compound on the western outskirts of Albuquerque. Fugitive drug dealer, Walter White, who was sighted by a neighbour at his former home earlier today, was also found dead at the scene. His body was discovered in what’s thought to have been the gang’s laboratory. It remains unclear...”_

The last words Jesse really heard were _‘dead at the scene’_. The rest of the newscast was lost behind by a buzzing white noise that filled his mind.

Mr White was dead. He was finally fucking dead.

Jesse’s vision blurred with tears and his hands grew slippery on the wheel. It suddenly felt like he was drunk. Jesse already knew he was driving too fast. He had taken the car out to the lonely desert roads that fringed the city so he was less likely to crash into other drivers or be stopped for speeding. Jesse figured he would go on the run soon. It seemed like the thing to do in his situation. He just wasn’t ready to leave yet. Fuck it, he’d just wanted to savour this moment of being wild and free on the open road before shit had to get complicated again. But now Mr White was dead, he was _dead_ and just... _fuck_...            

Jesse swerved off the road and drove straight out into reservation land. He bit down on his lip and he scraped away his tears with his knuckles. And he wasn’t crying over Mr White, right? _Shit_ , if he was crying over Mr White then they must be tears of purest fucking joy. Jesse just kept on driving. He forced himself to breathe and his breath came out in dry heaving sobs. But Jesse wasn’t crying for Mr White. He’d known that the evil old fucker was dying. He had seen the spreading stain on his shirt and he’d left him to bleed.

So now he was dead and gone for good. Emphasis on the _good_.  

A few more miles and Jesse eased his foot off the accelerator. The car slowly spluttered to a halt. The radio had already turned to static. Jesse threw open the door and staggered out into the big barren emptiness. His walk was all stiff and deformed; his limbs still weren’t used to moving without the chains hanging off them. He could still feel the cuffs biting at his wrists. He stumbled and sank to his knees. His sobs turned to screaming. How many screams had Jesse been holding in his chest these past two years? At least Jesse could scream in the desert. He was way out in the boonies; out in one of those lonely stretches of Indian territory where they used to cook in the RV. Nobody would hear Jesse screaming here.          

Jesse stayed like that for a long time, clinging to the dead grass and crying so hard his tears stung his cracked lips. His body was wracked with shivers too. It was freezing in the desert at night and he wasn’t wearing any warm layers. But Jesse was out in the free air. He didn’t care how cold and bitter it was. He wanted this air all around him. He wanted it swirling his hair and pimpling his skin. Jesse hadn’t expected to taste this air again.

He slowly raised his eyes to the stars. He wondered if he was really alone out here. Yeah, there had been nights in his cell that Jesse had been desperate enough to pray. _Please God or whoever...please get me out of here. I swear I’ll be a good boy if you just get me out_. All that shit. Now Jesse was finally free but it wasn’t God who’d saved him. No, it was the Devil who came back for him in the end. The same Devil who’d put him in that cage to begin with. The same Devil who’d cursed his life since the day they had met. And yeah, the same Devil who had always been, like...Jesse’s weird-ass guardian angel.

He squeezed his eyes closed, swallowing his tears. He wondered if he could really keep his superstitious promises to be a good person from now on. Jesse had never really believed in God. He’d let himself be dragged to church a few Sundays by his Aunt Ginny because she’d wanted to get right with Jesus before she kicked. Jesse didn’t think any amount of praying would get him right with the world now. But he was grateful for this little bit of mercy. He wasn’t going to die a slave in that filthy hole in the ground. And for now, that was enough. It was enough that Jesse wasn’t going to die back there. 

“Thank you...” Jesse murmured.

He had no idea who he was saying it to.    

He stumbled back to the car, wrung out in his body and soul. He flipped up the arm rest and he curled up on the seats, sleep swiftly overtaking him.

 

~*~

 

The sun was high and blazing in the sky when Jesse woke. He was sweating, his head throbbed and his throat was raw from all his screaming last night. Glancing at the clock on the car radio Jesse realized he had slept through into the afternoon. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time. Well, Jesse never really slept at all in his former prison. He lay still and shut his eyes, bracing himself for when Todd came back. The sleep he’d had in the car was deep and dreamless, maybe even healing. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

_Mr White is dead_ , Jesse thought.

He punched the car horn and made a growling sound in his throat because he hated that this was the first thing he remembered. Jesse told himself once again that he wasn’t upset that Mr White was dead and gone. He knew he shouldn’t waste any more time thinking about the old asshole. He needed to get on the road now; he needed to run. He had already wasted so much time that he should’ve spent escaping. God, he needed... 

...he needed water. He _seriously_ needed water.

Jesse rummaged the floor and compartments of the car for any bottled liquids but found nothing. He reluctantly got out of the car to take a piss and his kidneys hurt so bad he almost fainted. Jesse steadied himself against the car hood and he took a few deep breaths. He had been through this before. He knew how quickly you could get dehydrated in the desert heat. He could remember being so fucking exhausted with thirst he didn’t even have the energy to celebrate when Mr White finally got the RV started up again. Jesse closed his eyes and he let himself get lost in those memories. He thought about the week following their four day cook; about how Mr White hadn’t been answering his calls, how Jane had caught Jesse checking the obituaries and she’d asked him what was wrong.

_It’s nothing_ , Jesse had told her, _Shit, it’s just...you remember that guy who came over here? The bald dude who was pretending to be my dad? Well, the thing is...the guy’s got cancer and last weekend he was, like...coughing up blood. Now I haven’t heard from him in days and I’ve got a bad feeling that, um...I think that he might have..._

Jane had shushed him and stroked his hair.

_Baby, I’m sorry,_ she’d said _, but he’s not your dad, right?_

Jesse had wiped his eyes and changed the subject. He couldn’t explain to Jane who Mr White was to him. Yeah, he wasn’t Jesse’s dad, but there was a time when he’d been a lot more than that. That time didn’t even feel real anymore; the time back when he still _was_ Mr White, before he turned into Heisenberg and the Devil and scarier things on top of that. There was a time when Jesse would have mourned the days they spent out in the desert with the RV and the chemistry. He couldn’t say the desert was their happy place anymore. No, the desert was the place where Walter White had let those men put Jesse on his knees and put a gun to his head, where he had given them the nod to shoot. He would’ve stood in the desert and he would’ve watched Jesse die...same as he said he watched Jane die.      

Jesse wondered if he should have pulled the trigger and watched him die too. He had a hundred reasons to do it, but he never could have shot that evil old bastard enough times to feel like he’d got any justice – for himself or for all the others. Jesse wondered if his biggest mistake was leaving the gun. That day on his knees in the sand, looking up at the blue sky...Jesse had been ready to die then. He’d been prepared for it, more prepared than he was for everything that happened to him after. If Jesse had just kept the gun, he’d have another choice here; a choice that might be hell of a lot easier than going on the run...

Jesse sat in the car for a long time, staring at the keys on the dashboard and at the setting sun beyond the window. His throat burned and his head pounded and he was already starting to feel sleepy again. Jesse remembered asking Mr White what would have happened to them if they hadn’t built that new battery. Mr White said within a day or so they’d have fallen asleep and from sleep they would have slipped into comas and soon after that they’d have stopped breathing. Jesse wondered if that was the way they should have died all along, out there in the RV with the crates of Blue Sky before anyone else got hurt. It could have all ended out in the desert. It could have been perfect...a perfect moment to die. Jesse understood now. He finally got what Mr White had meant when he’d said all that shit. It wasn’t that he wanted to drop dead. It was that he had lived too long. He’d seen too much.   

Jesse sat in the car until nightfall, waiting for his coma. But when the stars came out Jesse’s heart stirred again. He decided he really did need a drink.

It was sometime after midnight that Jesse was on the road leading back into Albuquerque, struggling to find a rest stop that would be open in the wee hours of morning. After a long thirsty search, he pulled up the car alongside a _Dennys_ , its neon sign beaming at him like a reassuring smile. Jesse didn’t have any money, of course, but he made a fast beeline for the bathroom and spent a good ten minutes sucking on the cold tap. When Jesse raised his head from the sink, he caught a brief glimpse of his pale haggard reflection in the mirror. He looked away quick, like his eyeballs had been burnt. Jesse crept back into the cafe which was thankfully near empty with only a skeleton staff barely awake at the tills. He still thought it’d be better if he didn’t hang around. He marched towards the door and froze as he spied half a mug of stone cold black coffee and a piece of cold dry toast abandoned at one of the empty tables. Jesse knocked back the coffee in a single swig and he pocketed the toast. He had a bad feeling this might be the closest thing to a meal he’d get for a while.

Jesse climbed back in the car and decided to risk the radio once more. They were playing music now. Late night love stations, real corny torch songs. Jesse almost switched it off. Then there came a repeat airing of the latest local news.   

_“...police investigating the Albuquerque meth lab massacre are searching for a black 1978 Chevrolet El Camino registered to Todd Alquist, one of the bodies identified at the crime scene. The missing vehicle is believed to have been taken by one or more of the drug gang’s associates who were presumably fleeing from the machine gun fire. Police wish to warn the public that the driver of this car may be armed and should be...”_

Jesse turned the radio off so he could concentrate on not having a heart attack. _Fuck_ the police were working this case fast. Well, the Great Heisenberg was involved so Jesse supposed the FBI had come in and were helping the local PD turn over the evidence, speeding it all up. But _shit_ , the car was the only advantage Jesse had. Come first light he’d probably have police helicopters bearing down on it.

So he was screwed, he was boned, unless... 

Yes. There was still time. He knew where to go.

 

~*~

It was close to 3am when Jesse pulled up at the gates of old Joe’s junkyard. He didn’t have the energy to climb the fence so he got on his knees and burrowed beneath. After slithering through the tiny trench he’d dug, Jesse spat the sand from his mouth and he marched towards the off-white trailer that served as both Joe’s office and residence. He banged on the door. A minute later Joe appeared in his robe and slippers.  

“Hey man, I’m sorry to wake you, I...I need a favor.”

Joe just squinted at him. “Do I know you?”

He shifted nervously. “Yeah...it’s Jesse Pinkman.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “ _Jesus H Christ_. Yeah...I remember you. Walt White’s little friend, right? I thought it said on the news a while back you were dead?”

Jesse shrugged. “Well, I’m not.”

“I see that. Good for you.” Joe smirked at him and then frowned again. “Hey, wait a minute...were you caught up in that business with the machine gun? The big shooting at that compound out of town...you know, the place they found your old partner?”

Jesse nodded since it seemed Joe was itching to hear all about it.

“Yeah, yeah...” said Joe, “It said on the news the gate had been mowed down. Police figured at least one person got away. So that was you, huh? You’re the one that got out alive?” Joe’s smile returned. “Well, good for you.” He winced a little. “I guess...”

Joe suddenly seemed suspicious of Jesse’s visit to his lot. He took a step out onto his porch, his eyes locked on something he’d spied over Jesse’s shoulder.

“Aw, Christ...” He raised a finger. “Is that what I think it is? That the car?”

Jesse swallowed. “Yeah, um, I’m sorry...I was thinking that...”

Joe raised a hand. “Stop talking. Stop talking _now_ and get that thing in here.”

Jesse didn’t waste any time following instructions. Joe unlocked the gate and Jesse drove the car through, parking it behind the tall mountains of scrap metal, safe from outside view. Jesse got out of the car to find Joe staring at it hard, rubbing his forehead.

 “So is it possible I could like...sell it to you?” Jesse attempted. “Or trade it, I mean. You can give me anything, man. Any hunk of junk you got lying around. I don’t care. I just need a car that the cops won’t be looking for. I need to get out of town...”

Joe laughed. “Yeah, I expect you do. But I’m not exactly in the market for a car connected to a mass murder at a meth lab. And I haven’t got anything to trade you anyways. I had a bit of a closing down sale yesterday afternoon. I’m shutting up shop here. All of my working cars are with Clovis now. They’re all gone...” Joe seemed to notice Jesse’s face fall and he tipped his head at him, sympathetically. “You got any money?”

Jesse closed his eyes. “No. Nothing...”

“Sorry. I don’t think Clovis goes in for charity.”

“Couldn’t you, like...strip it for parts?” said Jesse, his desperation growing. “And then give me some money for the parts? It’s...this car’s all I’ve got.”   

Joe was already shaking his head. “No time. This vehicle’s one very hot bit of evidence. It’s got to destroyed, toot sweet, same as we did your old RV...”

“You can’t! What...what’ll I do without wheels?”

Joe waved a hand, gesturing for Jesse to lower his voice. “Hey...calm down, son. I’m trying to do you a favor here. And I’m only doing this favor because I like you...” Joe raised his finger again, pointing it right in Jesse’s surprised face. “The kid with the magnet plan, right? Yeah, smart kid. I like you.” Joe slapped Jesse on the shoulder and nodded to the machine behind him. “Come on now. Help me get it in the crusher...”

Jesse trusted that Joe was making the right call here, even though it would make him leaving town ten times harder. That said Jesse didn’t feel much as he watched Todd’s Chevy getting crushed to a small metal cube. But then Jesse hadn’t felt much when he was crushing Todd’s windpipe either. It wasn’t like the time he had to watch the Crystal Ship being ripped apart in metal jaws. His heart had become a lot harder since then. Jesse helped Joe finish up the job then followed him back to his office. There were a lot of bags and boxes packed into his reception. Joe ushered Jesse inside and he began to dig through them.

“Like I told you,” said Joe. “I’m shutting up shop and I mean permanently.” He shrugged. “I’ve been meaning to get out of town for a long time now. I knew the day had to come, but I’ve been dragging my heels. Hearing about the return of our mutual associate...I guess that was the wake up call I needed. Hey, tell me something...all that lab equipment they found at the compound. Is it the same portable gear I built for you?”

Jesse cringed. “Yeah, yeah it is.”

Joe nodded. “I know it’s doubtful they’ll trace it back to me, but you can’t be too careful. I’m taking White coming back as a sign that I ought to just disappear, like a fart in the wind.” Joe looked back at Jesse and spread his arms. “It’s my retirement day, kid. Tomorrow I’m getting picked up by this guy who’s gonna set me up with a new identity, if you can believe that.” Joe shook his head in wonder. “He’s said he can move me to a whole other town. Somewhere out in the country I’m hoping...somewhere quiet.”

Jesse nodded and forced a smile. It took every last shred of dignity he had left not to burst into tears and to beg Joe to take him along. But Jesse knew that even begging wouldn’t do him any good. By the sounds of it old Joe was using Saul’s vacuum repair guy. Jesse had already blown his one shot at getting out of town that way. Jesse was actually surprised to learn that this disappearer dude was a real thing. He had been sure that red mini-van was just another trap Mr White was setting; a plan to make Jesse disappear in a very different way.    

“I’ll be honest,” Joe continued. “This guy’s services don’t come cheap. I can only just afford it with the little nest egg I’ve built up and the jobs that I did for you and your partner make up a large sum of my savings. So here, let me give you something...”

Joe held out what looked like a small tool kit. Jesse frowned.

“You ever hotwired a car?” asked Joe. “I haven’t got time to give you a tutorial. Suffice it to say in this little kit you’ll find a screwdriver, a Slim Jim, wire stripper and whatnot....” Joe checked his watch. “It’s just coming up to 4am. You got a few good hours before most folk are gonna be awake. So you take the north road into town and you’ll come to a really shitty neighbourhood. The cars you find there won’t be alarmed. It’s the best place to steal one. The police will come looking for it eventually but they won’t be hunting it like that black Chevy.”

Joe pressed the tool kit into his hand. Jesse shook his head.

“I...I can’t,” he said.

“Sure you can.” Joe encouraged. He snatched a notebook off his desk and began scrawling on the first clean page. “Here, I’ll write you a little cheat sheet if you're not familiar with the process. Other boys I’ve loaned this kit to have picked up the gist of it pretty quickly.” Joe gave Jesse the notebook and tapped the side of his head. “P.M.A. my friend. Positive mental attitude. Like I said, you’re a smart kid. You’ll make it.”

Jesse was grateful for the vote of confidence. He just didn’t know how to explain to Joe that while he might be capable of stealing a car he was really trying not to commit another crime here. Christ, how could Jesse explain to the crooked old junkyard guy that he had made this cosmic deal with God or the universe or whatever that if he got to escape from the compound then he was gonna be a good guy from now on?

He couldn’t explain it, so he didn’t try. Instead Jesse just took the tool kit with another forced smile. Joe did some more rooting through his lost and found box and he fished out a hooded jacket and a pair of knitted gloves which he also handed to Jesse.

“Here, take these as well. It’s just stuff people left behind in cars that they gave me. Make sure you put on the gloves. You don’t want to leave any fingerprints in this town and you best keep yourself covered up till you’re a good distance away. You don’t look like that old mug shot of yours they were flashing up on the news a while back, but...” Joe looked Jesse up and down. “...you don’t exactly look inconspicuous either.”

Jesse nodded, slipping on the gloves and the coat and raising his hood.

“You want some free advice?” said Joe. “Don’t go knocking on anyone else’s door. You might think you’ve got friends in this town, but the locals are going nuts over this meth lab story. Even if there’s someone you think you can trust it’s just as likely they’ll roll on you for a little of the fame and glory. Just concentrate on boosting a car...”

Joe’s face crumpled into a grim smile that told Jesse that he wasn’t going to be one of those people rolling on him. Jesse felt a pang of guilt as he tried to remember if he’d said anything about Joe’s yard when he had spilled his guts to Schrader. It hardly mattered now since Todd had taken the tape and Joe was getting out of town. But Jesse had forgotten that he even _had_ any friends in the world. It still meant something to him.

“Anything else I can do?” asked Joe.

“I, um...” Jesse looked to the floor. “I’m hungry.”

Joe sighed and turned to open up his near empty fridge. He fished an egg roll, a half pack of salami and a few slices of processed cheese out of the back.

“I’m sorry we ain’t got time to share a beer and catch up,” said Joe, handing Jesse the food which he quickly stuffed into his pockets. “I mean that sincerely...I don’t know what happened to you, kid, but...I can tell it wasn’t anything good.”

These words were enough to get Jesse shuffling towards the door. He didn’t mind taking charity but he wasn’t ready to face any kind of scrutiny about what had been done to him. He was down the trailer steps and halfway towards the gate when Joe suddenly called him back.

“Hey, wait up...there’s something else I should tell you,” he began. “Maybe it’s something you already know. But if you _don’t know,_ then...I’m thinking maybe it’s something you should know.”

Jesse halted and stared back at Joe in confusion.

Joe shrugged. “Maybe it’s just something I need to get off my chest.”

“What are you talking about?” Jesse asked him.

“The last job I did for your old partner,” said Joe. “When was what? Almost a year ago now, I think. He wanted me to crush a car for him. Well, actually he didn’t come himself. He sent this young guy towing the car. This kid tells me that he’s Mr White’s new partner and that the vehicle he has with him best not be found. And so he pays me to destroy it. I only got a quick look at the car, but I saw that the headlights were smashed in, the driver’s side window was broken and there’s blood splattering the front seats.” Joe shook his head. “I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t feel _safe_ asking any questions...that young guy gave me the creeps. But I could see what had happened. And I knew whose car it was.”

Jesse didn’t need him to go on. “Mike...it was Mike’s car, right?”

Joe nodded. “Did White ever tell you he did that?”

“No, he never told me.” Jesse shuddered. “But I knew.”

“I’m sorry,” said Joe. “Like I said...that was the last job I ever did for Walt White. And I’m not proud of the part I played in that. Looking back...that should have been the time that I got out of town. I should have just up and left. A few capers with giant magnets, okay...but it all went too far, you know?” He sighed. “But I’m old and set in my ways. I wasn’t ready for a change. I’ve always liked this town...lived here all my life.”

Jesse wasn’t looking at Joe anymore. He was staring at the glimmering street lights ahead, the glow of the town that Jesse liked a lot too. He hadn’t ever wanted to leave...no matter how many times Mike said it was the smart thing to do. Jesse’s cheeks were wet again but at least the shadowy folds of his hood drew its curtains around his tears. After a moment, he felt Joe’s hand on his shoulder, gently ushering Jesse towards his gate.

“Good luck, kid,” said Joe. “You have a good rest of your life, alright?”

And with that, Jesse was on the road into town, clutching Joe’s tool kit and the notebook to his chest. Part of him just wanted to drop to his knees and start screaming again. But he wasn’t out in the desert anymore. If he screamed now, there were people in nearby houses who would wake up and hear him. He couldn’t start wailing over this now. And Mike wasn’t his dad either. Jesse had always known that Mike was dead and how he died, though it still hurt to be told so...why did Jesse have to be _right_ about the worst things? And why hadn’t Jesse realized he was right until it was way too late?

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said softly under his breath.

He didn’t know who he was saying that to either.       

 

 

_To be Continued..._


	2. The Empty Handed Painter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The highway is for gamblers you better use your sense,_   
>  _Take what you have gathered from coincidence,_   
>  _The empty handed painter from your streets_   
>  _Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets_   
>  _The sky, too, is folding under you,_   
>  _And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.”_

 

An hour later, Jesse sat outside the hotdog drive-in beating a rhythm on the wooden table with a Slim Jim and a screwdriver. God, he missed his drum kit. He never played it all that well but his drums had always been a great way to work off his twitchy energies. And Jesse really needed to keep his hands busy now...otherwise he would be roaming the streets trying to steal a car. _Idle hands are the devil’s playthings_ , as his Granny used to say. Jesse felt sure that if he did try to steal a car then the universe or God or the angry ghost of Hank Schrader would send a big squad of cops to surround him, beat him bloody and put him back in cuffs again.

And that’s just what Jesse would deserve if he stole a car from this crumbling neighbourhood. Jesse knew these streets well. He’d slung weed and crystal on these corners many an evening back in the old days. These were the same few blocks that Jesse had driven around throwing his millions out of his car window. Jesse wondered if he just waited by the Dog House long enough...maybe that old homeless dude would come back and he’d spot Jesse a few bucks so he could take the bus.

It would be light soon. The shadows and the folds of Jesse’s hood wouldn’t hide his face much longer. He felt like a vampire who was in danger of turning to dust when sunrise came. He didn’t know what he was going to do. He _did_ know he wasn’t going to boost a car. He was pretty sure he couldn’t bring himself to pick someone’s pocket either. Jesse had stolen a wallet once before. Back when he was a teenager he’d slipped his nimble fingers into an old guy’s jacket and slipped away unnoticed. Jesse had needed to pay back his dealer. He’d been trying to avoid an ass kicking and his parents weren’t letting him wheedle any more cash out of them. But he’d felt horrible about it later, thinking he might have lifted that old guy’s pension for the week.

It’s not like Jesse was turning all Jesus loving and born again. He was just superstitious, that’s all. He didn’t want to be cursed with any more bad luck. If he tried committing just one more crime Jesse felt sure he’d be dooming himself. So what were his options then? He still needed money and Christ...he’d _had_ money. Bags and bags of fat stacks. If Jesse had been smart like Mike he’d have made himself a getaway bag and hidden it someplace ready for the day he needed to get out of town fast. Jesse thought he might still have a rainy day fund tucked under the sink at his old home but he didn’t dare go look for it. The house had probably been seized by the cops. If his parents hadn’t stolen it back.     

Jesse peeled the plastic wrapping off his last piece of real American cheese and folded it into his mouth. He had already finished the rest of the slightly expired food that Joe had rooted out of his fridge. Jesse packed the tools back into the kit box and abandoned them on the table, but he slipped the notebook into his coat pocket.     

 _Okay...so who owes me money_? Jesse thought.

With that notion in his head, Jesse started in the direction of Skinny Pete’s house. Skinny would help him out for sure. The amount of free crystal and strippers and pizza that Skinny had enjoyed on Jesse’s dime in the last two years was impossible to estimate. The dude owed him big time and Jesse figured that Skinny was decent enough to pay up. Skinny might even let Jesse hideout at his house for a few days so he could recover, ready to go on the run – for real this time. Yeah, it would be sweet staying with Skinny. So long as he didn’t tell Badger, of course. If Badger found out he would probably blow Jesse’s cover. And with that thought, Jesse slowed his walk.

The thing was...Badger might be at Skinny’s house already. The two of them were together more often than not. If they were at Skinny’s house right now they would either be crashed out asleep or they would be awake and tweaking. Either way, Jesse had to pause and wonder how his old friends would react if they opened the door to him...if they saw his long hair and beard and the scars on his face. Jesse thought they might be a little scared of him. No, they might be _a lot_ scared of him. Jesse sure scared himself every time he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the windows he passed. 

Jesse came to a halt. He realized there was another thing scaring him. It was old Joe’s warning that he shouldn’t trust his old friends not to sell him out. Skinny Pete and Badger were his boys but...but could he really trust them? Before he had always felt sure that they liked him. But that was _before_. That was when Jesse had money and a big ass flat-screen and sound system. That was back when Jesse had cooked the best meth ever. Would they still be his friends now if he came to them with nothing, begging for their help? Jesse wasn’t sure. Thinking about it, he’d been a really shitty friend to them in the last two years; always yelling at them, or just acting crazy and depressed. It could be that all those freebies they got out of him were the only reason they even stuck around.   

Jesse raised a shaky hand to his ruined face. He didn’t want his boys to see him like this. He didn’t want to take their money. If they even _had_ any money Jesse imagined it wouldn’t come from anywhere legitimate. So he was back to square one.

God, he hated being alone. Jesse knew he had to go to someone.

And why was it, when he was at his most desperate...he always thought to go to her?

 

~*~

 

Jesse reached the Crossroads Motel a little after dawn. There weren’t many places left in Albuquerque that Jesse could come home to but climbing the steps of the Crystal Palace felt like a homecoming. He came to the door of apartment 213. He knocked and prayed she answered. After his sixth knock he heard a few stumbling movements from inside. Then the door swung open and Wendy stood bleary eyed before him.

“Yeah?” she slurred. “What do you want?”

“Hey Wendy, it’s me. It’s Jesse...” For a good few seconds, Wendy just scrunched her eyes at him, her expression blank and confused.  “ _Jesse Pinkman_ , remember?”

Wendy’s nose crinkled. “They said you were dead.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m not.”

“TV said you were dead,” Wendy insisted as though the television had greater authority than Jesse’s actual living presence standing in her doorway.  

“Can I please come in?” he asked.

Wendy stood her ground, her arms clutching the door frame.

“You holding?” she asked him.

“No,” Jesse admitted.

“Well...you got any money?”

“No,” Jesse said again.

He was just realizing that he had never come to Wendy’s place empty handed before. He only ever came here to sell her meth or pay for her services.

But still, Jesse liked to think she was his friend.  

“There’s a spider in my sink,” Wendy blurted out.

Jesse frowned. “What?”

“A spider. A really big one. It’s been there since yesterday.” Wendy’s curled a finger around the lank locks of her greasy blonde hair. “I don’t like killing the things but I got a really bad phobia.” She nodded to herself, seeming to have reached a decision. “So if you can get the spider for me then I guess...I guess you can come in.”

Jesse nodded, accepting the deal. He realized this was the reason he always came to Wendy. In the back of his mind, he remembered she was kind.

The spider wasn’t all that big. Jesse caught it easily between his cupped hands and then took it to the window to be released. Another little Godforsaken creature freed into the night to go anywhere it pleased. Jesse wondered if there were any more bugs he could rescue from Wendy’s room. He liked this job already; Jesse Pinkman’s humane pest removal services. He could give those Vamanos guys some competition for sure.

“Spider’s gone,” he said stepping out of the bathroom.

“ _Finally_ I can shower...” said Wendy, pushing past him to get to the cubicle.

“Hey, you think maybe I could grab one after you?”

Wendy was already stripping her clothes off in front of him.

“Err...I guess. There’s not much hot water.”   

Jesse nodded and decided to leave it. He’d already caught a chill from that first night he spent in the desert. He couldn’t afford to get sick now. Wendy didn’t seem to mind that he smelled bad. There were a lot of bad smells in Wendy’s motel room, drifting up from the layers of trash littering her carpet. Jesse’s eyes drifted over to her windowsill and the face of a little boy on a stray Polaroid. _Her son_. That’s right, she had a kid.

“How’s Patrick?” Jesse asked as Wendy stepped under the trickling water.

“Oh, I...I haven’t been allowed to see him these last two months,” she answered tonelessly. “Not since I got a little drunk at his last birthday party...”

Jesse quickly gave up on conversation and flopped down on the bed. He must have drifted off for a moment because the next thing he knew Wendy was standing by the door, fully dressed, her hair dry and her makeup thick. She checked her lipstick in the mirror and slipped a bottle of mouthwash into her purse. Jesse raised himself on his elbows.

“Can I like...crash here for a while?” he asked. “I could, like...do more chores for you. Like, I could clean up and scrub your sink and all that...”

Wendy shrugged. “Whatever. I gotta work.”

Jesse watched her leave. The clock by the bed said it was a little after 8am and Jesse knew that Wendy could spend most of the daylight hours out in that parking lot, turning tricks for the many lonely drivers who knew she was always there waiting. Jesse stayed true to his word and set about tidying up. Every so often he’d stop, sneezy with dust and heavy with exhaustion. He would lie down on the bed, lose a few hours and then he’d get back up and keep cleaning. It wasn’t until late into the afternoon that Jesse thought to turn on the TV. It took him ages to find the remote. Then the picture was all fragmented until Jesse figured out how to retune it. But he got the thing working and...

...and that was when Jesse saw his own face flash up on the news.   

_“...the confession tape was found yesterday among the belongings of Todd Alquist, one of the nine killed in the meth lab shooting. Jesse Pinkman was last seen alive in the custody of Agents Hank Schrader and Steve Gomez; the missing officers of the Albuquerque DEA. Agent Schrader’s wife confirmed that Pinkman was a former criminal associate of Walter White who had been aiding the DEA in their attempts to bring about the drug lord’s arrest. Pinkman, along with Agents Schrader and Gomez, has been missing and presumed dead since the day Walter White fled from New Mexico...”_

Jesse’s mind clouded with white noise again. He stared at the still from his confession tape. He hadn’t expected to see it again. He was shocked that Todd had kept it and yet there was part of him that wasn’t surprised at all. The sick fuck must have considered it a trophy. The newscast wasn’t showing anything more than the still of his face for now, along with promises of more details to follow and hints that they’d finally got their big scoop on Walter White’s criminal career. It looked like the story was coming out after all. If the old bastard only knew he’d probably be thrilled. He was going to be remembered, that was for sure.

There was part of Jesse that felt relieved the tape had been found; relieved that it hadn’t all been for nothing, even if it had been found too late. At least Drew Sharp’s parents would know the truth now. Jesse was also glad to hear that Mrs Schrader was seemingly still alive. When Jesse had cracked and told Todd about the tape, he’d feared he’d be adding another name to the long list of people who were dead because of him.    

Jesse sat numbly on the edge of the bed, watching the news channel and waiting for more updates on his own story. Eventually he heard Wendy’s key rattling in the door. Jesse thought about turning the TV off, but decided not to. He didn’t want to hide things from her. Wendy had a right to know who she was harbouring.

“Hey, I...I got your TV working,” said Jesse as she stepped inside.

“Fucking things been busted for weeks,” Wendy muttered.  

She dropped a bag of hamburgers and two cans of root beer on the bed. Jesse was touched to see that she had bought home enough for him to share. They both climbed under the blankets, feasting on the junk food and soda. About ten minutes later the news swung around to the meth lab murders story again, including the segment on the confession tape.

Jesse swallowed and hung his head. He waited for Wendy to call him a rat and kick him out of her room. He remembered how Wendy hadn’t crumbled the time when Schrader had been sweating her for hours. She probably thought he was a coward too.  

Wendy didn’t say anything for a moment. When she did speak her voice was trembling.

“Does this mean there won’t be any more of that blue stuff?” she asked.

Jesse blinked. It seemed this detail was the only thing that troubled her.

“Um, yeah...I guess,” he answered.

Wendy clenched her head in her hands.

“ _Shit..._ ” she hissed.

Jesse watched her with concern, worried she might start crying. Jesse wished he knew a way to comfort her. Sure, he could tell her it was better that the blue was off the streets and the temptation was gone but he knew Wendy wouldn’t want to hear that right now. Jesse knew how she felt. He’d loved the blue stuff too once. It was the bomb.  

Jesse decided to change the subject. Well, there was actually another subject he really needed to get into with Wendy. There was another reason why Jesse had gone to her instead of anyone else, though he was terrified to say it out loud.  

“Um Wendy...I got to ask you something...you know a lot of johns, right?”

She hissed again like she was angry at Jesse for reminding her.

“Yeah, so?! What about it?” she snapped.

Jesse took a deep breath and told himself not to pussy out.

“Because I was just wondering...” Jesse swallowed and forced himself to continue. “Do you know any johns who are looking to get sucked off by a guy?”

Wendy finally raised her head from her hands, blinking at him.

“Oh,” she said. “So that’s why you’re here. Okay. Um yeah...I guess I could set you up with some of the queer ones.” She shuffled closer on the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke his beard. “You’d probably have to shave first.” Her fingers ghosted over the scars on his cheeks and she sighed. “Shame what’s happened to your pretty face.”

Jesse cringed a little when she touched him. Wendy’s hands were kind and gentle, motherly even. Jesse hadn’t been touched with this kind of tenderness in a long time.

“I...I just gotta make some money fast,” Jesse stammered. “Just enough so I can get a ticket on the Greyhound bus...you know, just to get me far away from this town.”

Jesse knew if he went through with this he’d be breaking his new sacred vow not to commit further crimes. But at least blowing a few lonely fags was a crime without any victims, except maybe Jesse himself. And what did that matter at this point?

“Right,” said Wendy. Her hand slipped from his face and stroked down his chest, dipping under the covers. “So...you want me to give you a few tips, hon?”

Her hand lingered uncertainly on Jesse’s stomach. He forced himself to nod, because yeah, if he was really going to do this then he could use a teacher. Wendy certainly was the expert here. Jesse felt her hand slip into his underwear and her skinny fingers coiling around his soft cock. Wendy tugged gently at first and then firmer, faster. Jesse’s dick wasn’t responding like it was supposed to. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t had any action in months so he should be horny as hell. But no, Jesse felt nothing. Well actually...he felt sick. When Wendy ducked her head under the blankets to see what was going on down there, Jesse just straight up panicked. He wrenched her hand away and jerked his knees into his chest, willing himself not to throw up those hamburgers.

“Sorry, I just...” he said. “I need to stop.”

Wendy frowned. “You okay?”

Jesse shrugged. “I don’t even know.”

It really was no fun for Jesse discovering there were more things that were broken about him. He was panting and drenched in cold sweat. Wendy’s hands retreated to her lap.

“Baby, if you can’t do this with me...then I don’t think you’ll want to be doing it with any of the creepy old perverts that I’d be setting you up with.”

Jesse nodded. “I just...I need the money.”

“Yeah but...why not stick with what you know?” Wendy got on her knees on the mattress, looking him right in the eye. “I could get you what you need. I know a couple of smurfs who could get you the pseudo and then hit a bunch of hardware stores to get all the chemicals and glassware. It...it wouldn’t be any kind of major league meth lab, but I bet that you’d cook the best shit ever even if it’s just shake and bake. We could do it that way, right? I know this guy who’s got a huge basement. He could hide you from the feds. I could bring you hamburgers. And then after you’ve cooked a few batches and we’ve sold it for you, then you’d have your money...then you could get your bus. What do you think?”

Jesse just stared at her, the panic and paranoia rising in him again.

“Wendy...who did you tell I was here?”

“What?” she spluttered. “Jesus, _nobody_. I’m not like that.”

Jesse nodded apologetically because, yeah, he knew she wasn’t like that. But still, what if Jesse let Wendy tell a few of her friends that he was willing to cook for them? What if those friends did let Jesse hide out in one of their basements? What if he made them a lot of money with a few more batches of clean crystal? And what if, when Jesse asked to leave, these friends of Wendy’s just stuck a gun in his face and told him to keep cooking?  

Jesse knew that this probably wasn’t what Wendy had planned for him. But she didn’t know how these things worked. She just wanted the blue stuff back. She didn’t realize quite how many times Jesse’s one and only talent had led to him cooking under fear of death.

“I’m not making meth anymore,” Jesse told her firmly. “I’m sorry. I know you’ll miss it. I know it’s the only thing I’m good at, but...I can’t. And honestly, you should be glad it’s gone. It’s poison, Wendy. It’s poisoned every part of my life. You’ll be better off without it. When the blue meth is off the streets maybe you could think about getting clean. Maybe you could even look into getting a real job. Then someday...you might get Patrick back.”

Wendy just scowled and shook her head.

“Fuck you,” she hissed.      

She turned away and threw her legs over the other side of the bed. Jesse closed his eyes. He waited for her to tell him to get the hell out. An addict always stays on friendly terms with their dealer, but if Jesse wasn’t dealing anymore, it looked like they weren’t friends either.

But the order to leave never came. Instead Wendy sat rooting through her bedside drawer. Jesse watched as she took out a bag of white powder, a needle, an old burnt spoon and... _oh fuck_. Wendy hadn’t been into heroin the last time that Jesse had seen her. He always thought she was just a methhead. But then Jesse never thought he’d get into junk either. He kept his knees hugged to his chest as he watched Wendy cook up, fill up the syringe and then tighten a belt around her thin bruised arm. Jesse reached out to catch her as she slumped back against the pillows and then he turned her over to sleep on her side, pulling her hair out her face to be sure that her airway was clear.   

Jesse sat in the dark for a long time, watching Wendy nod. The shadows fell into the lines of her face. Jesse could tell she’d been young and pretty once too, not so long ago even. Somewhere under all the smeared lipstick and yellow teeth, Wendy had been beautiful. Occasionally, Jesse’s eyes flicked from Wendy to the stash that she’d left (either carelessly or despairingly) in full view in the open drawer. Jesse couldn’t say he wasn’t tempted. There were many times that he had longed to spike his veins again and slip back into that divine drugged sleep, not even caring if he woke up again. But he couldn’t steal it from Wendy. He could see this was all she had left now. It was crazy that she was still alive.  

So Jesse stayed and watched her sleep. He watched the flickering of her eyelids and waited for the high to wear off. He didn’t want to leave her while she was still in danger of throwing up and choking. When the first light of morning began to seep through the windows, Jesse switched the TV on again, quickly pressing the mute button.

There had been more updates on the meth lab massacre during the night. A breaking news item was scrolling across the screen under the news reader.

 _Jesse Pinkman’s fingerprints found on a gun at the Aryan meth lab compound_.

Jesse read the bulletin and he laughed. He put a hand over his mouth, not wanting to wake Wendy because he couldn’t stop giggling. Honestly, this shit was just funny to him now. He hadn’t thought it could get much worse. Obviously he was still underestimating how much the universe had it in for him. That fucking gun. Jesse hadn’t let himself be manipulated into shooting Mr White, but it looked like just picking the damned thing up had been enough to doom him. There were more words like ‘ _manhunt’_ scrolling under the screen and then Jesse’s picture was flashed up again. So that was it then. There was no way that Jesse was getting on a bus without being ID’d now. It was over. He was done.

Jesse felt a strange calm settle over him. His laughter died down and he turned off the TV. He checked Wendy one last time, making sure she was still breathing. He stroked her hair and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. He whispered goodbye.

Then he left her bedside and stepped out the door.  

 

~*~

 

It was a Friday and that much was a relief. There was always a place where people like Jesse could go on Fridays; those who wanted to get on the right path. It looked like the group still met at the church early on a Friday evening, at the end of the hard working week when it was most tempting to blow your wage packet on a night of drugs or drinking. The notice on the door said the NA meeting would start at 7pm as usual; open to all, with refreshments. Jesse glanced up at the church clock and saw it was a little before 10am. 

So...it looked like he had a bit of a wait ahead of him.

Jesse crossed the street to the neighbouring cemetery. The graveyard seemed like a fitting place to hideout...or to just wait to be caught. Yeah, Jesse felt like belonged in the cemetery in more ways than one. He wanted to be here with the other mourners, here with the other ghosts. It was a cold dry morning and there were hardly any other visitors to be seen. The people who did pass through the gates didn’t linger for long. So Jesse was largely left to haunt the place by himself. He drifted to the far side of the yard, heading straight for the stone that he had visited there most often in the last four years. It was looking a little dirty and neglected. It seemed like nobody had left her any flowers in months. Jesse stroked a hand over the engraved name: _Virginia Ellen Pinkman_.

“Hey Aunt Ginny,” Jesse murmured.

Jesse had seen a lot of death in a short time, but Ginny’s death had been the first and he’d never stopped missing her. He was only sixteen when he’d first moved in with her. That was after his folks had caught him stoned in his bedroom one time too many and decided that it wasn’t safe for him to be around little Jake anymore, even though Jesse _liked_ babysitting and Jake had never been hurt on his watch. But he hadn’t minded so much. Ginny’s house was better anyway. After Jesse was done with high school, Ginny didn’t rag on Jesse to get a job or apply for college or any of that. So long as Jesse kept her company and he didn’t bring any trouble to her door, she seemed to like having him around.

When the cancer came, Jesse had driven Ginny to her appointments, he had made her lunch and much more besides that. Smoking weed was better for her headaches than any of the painkillers the doctors prescribed. Jesse would roll her joints and Ginny would bake cookies for when they got the munchies. They would get high together and then sit around drawing by candlelight. Ginny always said that Jesse was an artist, even if his parents didn’t see it. She made him promise not to let his talents go to waste when she wasn’t around anymore. Ginny kept asking Jesse to promise her right up until the end; even in those horrible last weeks when she had been dying in little bits and pieces, when her thoughts kept scattering, when she was getting confused by phantom smells and hallucinating animals, she would still clutch at Jesse’s hand and she would whisper; _“Promise me, kiddo.”_   

It was in the week after his aunt died that Jesse had smoked his first bowl of meth. Weed just hadn’t been enough to numb the pain after Ginny went. His grief was like an itch deep inside that only the crystal could reach in and scratch. Soon just tweaking wasn’t enough. With his aunt and her health insurance gone, Jesse had needed to find his own way of making money. So he’d partnered up with Emilio and he had learned how to cook. Not only did making meth pay the bills, it also widened Jesse’s circle of friends. Yeah, Captain Cook had had a lot of friends. Jesse didn’t have to feel lonely living in Ginny’s house without her. His new friends made fun of his old lady furniture, but Jesse couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it. He clung to her memory and just like he’d promised…he hadn’t given up on being an artist.  

Jesse left Ginny’s grave and shuffled along the path. He read the names on every stone and he felt bad for all of them. It felt like every death in this town might somehow be Jesse’s fault; the drug addicts, the dealers and the plane crash victims. Jesse remembered that Combo was buried somewhere in this cemetery too. Or ‘Christian Ortega’ as it said in fancy letters on that pearly slab of marble his family had bought for him. It was Jesse who had left Combo’s mom a fat stack of cash in her mailbox, but it’s not like Jesse could have given it to her in person. What could he have said? _Here Mrs Ortega…real sorry I got your son killed but at least you can pay for a really sweet coffin now. Plus, I already owe you for that RV I stole._ Jesse shuddered and walked on. Reading the headstones wasn’t doing anything to settle his nerves, but he had nothing else to do to pass the time. So he kept walking. And eventually he came to it. He came to the last stone that he wanted to see.

 

_Andrea Cantillo_

_Tu hijo y tus padres no te olviden..._

The name and the epitaph that Jesse couldn’t read were engraved on a simple white cross. Tomas had cross just like it, right alongside hers. Jesse remembered Andrea telling him that their church community had helped to pay for her kid brother’s funeral and burial. He guessed the church had done the same for her too, another poor young victim of a gangland shooting and nobody even knew they were both killed because of Jesse Pinkman. There were flowers on Andrea’s grave at least; yellow ones. And among the flowers there were pictures drawn in crayon. Pictures of a girl with curly dark hair and one word scrawled underneath; _Mommy_.

Jesse clutched his stomach like someone had just shot him in the gut. Half blinded with tears, he retreated to a tree in the far corner of the cemetery and he sat under its branches, rocking himself and trying hard not to scream while every nerve in his body was screaming.  

He felt something pressing against his hands. It was the notebook that he’d been given by old Joe with the pen clipped between the pages by its lid. With trembling hands, Jesse turned to a fresh page and he began to draw his own picture of Andrea. He had to stop and start again several times over. His shaky fingers were ruining the lines. He was also struggling to remember what Andrea had looked like. Or rather, it was hard to picture Andrea in his head without flashing back to the night they had killed her. It terrified Jesse to go back there, even just in memory. In the end he just focused on her dark wavy hair and her big dark eyes. He tried to make her perfect; he tried to make her pure.

A dozen screwed up balls of paper littered the grass when Jesse finally rose to his feet and returned to Andrea’s grave. He slipped his own picture between the flower stems next to Brocks. He knew Brock would recognize Jesse’s drawing style the same as Jesse recognized his. They always used to draw together. They never would again.

The sky was growing dark now. Jesse had exhausted all the tombstones. There were plenty more dead people who Jesse thought about who didn’t have their graves here. He knew that Jane was buried somewhere up in Santa Fe near where her mom lived. Jesse had never been to visit Jane’s grave. He didn’t have the heart to go to Santa Fe without her. Then there were all the missing ones who didn’t even have graves...Krazy 8 and Emilio, Drew Sharp and Mike. There were Agents Schrader and Gomez still lost in the desert. Gale’s grave had to be somewhere close too. Jesse briefly wondered where Mr White would end up being buried and if anyone would ever leave flowers for him.       

Then Jesse felt Mr White’s voice whispering in his ears.

 _“You’ll be in the ground with us soon enough, Jesse,”_ said the voice, dripping with spite and condescension. _“I’m the only reason you even survived this long.”_

Jesse winced and shook his head. He wished he could forget what Mr White looked like, what he sounded like, what he _was_ like...he knew he never would. He rubbed his eyes and he made his way back to the cemetery gates. He saw the lights in the church doorway. It looked like the meeting was already in session. Jesse didn’t plan on intruding. He knew he wouldn’t be welcome, not after what he had admitted to doing the last time he was here. But he could wait until the meeting was over, after they came out and then...well...

Jesse didn’t really have many choices left to make.

If his last choice was picking a person to surrender to then...then Jesse wanted it to be him.          

 

_To be continued..._


	3. The Vagabond Who's Rapping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you,_   
> _Forget the dead you’ve left, they will not follow you,_   
> _The vagabond who’s rapping at your door,_   
> _Is standing in the clothes that you once wore,_   
> _Strike another match, go start anew_   
> _And it’s all over now, Baby Blue.”_

It was a long walk to the guy’s house.

The NA leader didn’t drive anymore, Jesse remembered him saying so one time in group. He’d told them that driving was one of his triggers. And yeah, Jesse didn’t think he would trust himself behind a wheel again if he’d once backed a truck over a six-year-old. Jesse was just glad that he didn’t have to approach the guy in the parking lot. He needed this walk to build up his nerve. More than once Jesse feared that he would lose the guy on the late night streets. Then before he was prepared for it...they were at his house.

Jesse held himself back, lingering in the safety of the shadows, watching the guy search for his keys on the porch. He wondered what the hell he was thinking.

_“You need to run_ ,” said the voice in his head, Mr White’s voice. _“Junkie idiot. I’ve just saved your life again...and you’re going to throw your last chance away?”_

Jesse shook his head. No, he wasn’t screwing up this time. He had to believe that this was his first step towards recovery. He knew the steps well. He could admit that he had impulses that he was struggling to control. Only it wasn’t his drug addiction that was the trouble this time. No, his _real_ problem was his compulsion to break the law; the habit that Jesse had fallen back into too many times, the thing that had ruined his whole life and the lives of so many others around him. Jesse really wanted to stop but he knew his situation had become unmanageable. How many crimes had Jesse come close to committing in the last few days? Pick-pocketing, prostitution, car theft and drug use... _yeah_. Jesse knew he was desperate. He knew he was on the verge. He could admit it and that was step one. Step two was believing in a power greater than himself, a power that could restore him to sanity.

_“Run, Jesse...”_ Mr White’s voice was still hissing in his head.

Jesse knew that particular voice would only drive him further into madness. He wasn’t doing what that voice wanted him to do anymore. Not ever again.

“Hey,” Jesse blurted to the man he hoped might be his higher power. 

Jesse winced as his voice came out raspy and ragged. He watched as the guy froze at his door and then slowly turned around, suddenly sensing the presence behind him...the broken, barely human shadow that had followed him all the way home.

“Who’s there?” the guy called out.

Jesse stepped into the dull glow cast by the porch light.

“I...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for coming here. I didn’t know where else to go...” He swallowed before adding, “You can call the cops if you want.”

The guy on the porch stood blinking, his mouth hanging jar.

“Jesse Pinkman,” he said at last. “My God...”

Jesse managed a faint smile. At least someone still recognised him.

“Sorry,” he said again. “I, uh...I forgot your name.”

Jesse couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. He’d gone to a lot of meetings and he remembered so much of what the guy had said. How come he couldn’t remember his name? Jesse had always just thought of him as _the leader_...like he was a priest or something.

The guy placed a hand to his chest. “Neil. It’s Neil.”  

“ _Right_ , Neil,” said Jesse. “I’m real sorry for coming, Neil.”

Jesse couldn’t apologise enough for his presence at the guy’s home. Neil looked scared. His eyes were wide behind his glasses and his hand hovered over his chest as if to shield himself and _fuck_...why did he look so scared? Jesse hadn’t come any closer.

“Jesse,” said Neil. “Could you please show me your hands?”

There was a quiver in his voice. _He thinks I’ve got a gun_ , Jesse realized. _He thinks I’m some crazy fugitive come to rob him and put a bullet in his head_...

All the stuff Jesse had said on his confession tape...it was probably public knowledge by now. Neil would know he was a murderer. He would know all about Jesse shooting people in their doorways. Jesse quickly took his hands out of his pockets and showed Neil his empty palms. Then he stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the porch.

“I’m not going to...I’m not armed,” said Jesse, his voice trembling worse than Neil’s. “I don’t have anything but the clothes I’m standing in. If you don’t believe me, then like I said...call the cops and get it over with. I...I can’t do this anymore.” 

Neil slowly crouched down, picked up the jacket and patted it down. The rolled up notebook, which was still in the pocket, slipped out and fluttered to the ground. Neil raised his head, looking back up at Jesse. He sighed and then beckoned him near.

“You’d better come inside,” he said.

Jesse nodded, relieved. He really couldn’t have run. He barely had the energy left to walk. He shuffled inside the house and winced as Neil snapped on the lights, blinding him with their harsh yellow glare. He was shivering all over. In the quiet of the living room he could hear his teeth chattering. Neil stood close by, talking to him softly.

“I’m glad you came,” Neil assured him. “I know it was me who asked you to leave during that last meeting. I had to protect the flock, as it were. And protect myself. You were going after my triggers too. But I didn’t want to give up on you, Jesse.”   

Jesse nodded, feeling dizzy and struggling to focus on Neil’s kind words.

“This is a nice home,” he said, vaguely attempting to be a polite guest.

Jesse’s bleary eyes moved from the soft couch cushions to the beige wallpaper to the mirror above the mantelpiece. There was his reflection again; that pale, scarred werewolf creature he had turned into. Jesse stared into his own bloodshot eyes. _Shit_. He looked like he was dying. Maybe he was? Jesse felt himself swaying, the room spun and...

Neil caught him by the elbow, steadying him before he fell.

“You need to sit down,” Neil instructed firmly.

Jesse nodded and allowed himself to be led to the dining table. He flinched as Neil reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. He told Jesse he had a slight fever. Then he stepped into the adjoining kitchen and opened his fridge. A moment later, Neil brought Jesse a large bowl of tofu and mixed bean salad and a tall glass of water. Jesse tried not to eat and drink too fast. He tried not to look like some hungry feral animal, but _man_...this vegan health food crap was the best thing he could remember tasting in a long time.

Jesse took a breath, pausing between desperate mouthfuls.          

“So are you going to call the cops?” he asked.

With Neil’s care and hospitality, Jesse could feel himself relaxing. But he didn’t want to get too comfortable if he had to brace himself for the cops hauling his ass to jail anytime soon.  

“Should I?” Neil asked. “Do you want to talk to them?”

Jesse cringed, remembering the hard twin stares of Agents Schrader and Gomez.

“I...I’d rather talk to you,” he said.

Neil nodded, taking a seat opposite him. “That’s good. Opening up is always good. You still need to drink more of that water, Jesse. Why don’t you let me talk first?”

“Why? You got something to tell me?”

Neil nodded. “Yeah, it...it’s about Andrea.”

Jesse tensed, laying down his fork and reaching for his glass.

“She’s dead,” he muttered. “I know that.”

Neil squinted with a look of keen suspicion but he didn’t question him.

“Andrea came to see me at group,” said Neil. “That was maybe...around a week before it happened. She was asking me if I’d seen you. She was worried because she’d heard you were using again. And that’s not all she was concerned about.” Neil drew his arms tight around his chest, leaning back in his chair. “This was right after the news about Walter White broke. Andrea told me the man had come to her house...that he had been looking for you. She said she had tried to help Walter White to contact you and that she feared she’d made a mistake.” Neil shook his head sorrowfully. “Andrea told me everything, Jesse. After the others from group went home, she just broke down in tears and admitted she’d been taking money from you to help pay her rent. She said she had kept on taking your money even after the two of you had broken up. She said she’d been so determined to keep Brock in a good neighborhood that she’d just...turned a blind eye to where your money might be coming from. She seemed to regret the whole thing, saying that she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if you’d been putting your life in danger just to provide for her and her son.”

Jesse’s fingers tightened around the glass. He couldn’t believe Andrea had cared enough to cry over him. But what was worse was that Mr White had been at their house. He’d said he was sorry about Brock but that was another lie and he’d been at their _fucking_ house. And that was why... _shit,_ that’s how Todd had known. Jesse always thought it had been him who had screwed up. That he must have mentioned something to Todd about having a girlfriend with a little kid before he knew what a psycho freak Todd was. But no, it had been Mr White using them as bait again. He was the reason why Andrea had been...

“I should’ve gone to the police,” Neil went on. “I didn’t want to get Andrea in trouble. I didn’t want her to lose the house, but maybe she’d be alive if I’d...”

“No, it wasn’t your fault,” Jesse blurted. “They still would’ve...” 

He closed his eyes, his throat clenching, unable to say it.

“Jesse,” said Neil’s voice, breaking into his thoughts. “Do...do you know who it was that killed her? I mean...was there some reason for her being shot?”

_Ever since I met you_ , Jesse thought, _everything I have ever cared about..._

“He told them. That was the reason. And they...they made me watch.”

Tears squeezed through Jesse’s pinched eyelids. He felt Neil’s hand on his arm, squeezing hard and then shaking him a little. Jesse startled and looked at him.

“We don’t have to talk about that now,” Neil said hastily.

Jesse nodded, grateful he wasn’t being pushed too hard, yet humiliated that he was clearly such a broken shell that Neil feared the pressure would shatter him.

“Andrea wasn’t the only one who came asking about you,” Neil added.

“Yeah? Who else?” said Jesse, thinking that maybe Badger and Skinny had noticed he was missing and maybe made some half-assed attempt to find him.   

“Your parents,” said Neil.

Jesse stared at him in disbelief, his heart throbbing.

“It was just a few days after Andrea’s death...” Neil continued, “...they said on the news that you had been killed too. Some guy who used to work as a bodyguard for that TV lawyer, the Goodman guy who’d also gone missing. He said Agent Schrader had shown him a photo of your body...that you’d been shot in the head, same as Andrea. It was assumed that you had both been murdered by the Heisenberg cartel, cleaning up witnesses.” Neil’s eyes were sad and distant, like he was drifting back. “We were all very upset about it in group. Brandon and Peter had this wild theory that you had faked your own death and run away to Alaska, but we assumed they were just in denial. I guess one of our members must have gone to pay their respects to your family because soon afterwards your mom and dad came to see me at the church. They didn’t actually know you’d been attending meetings.”

Jesse swallowed, hardly daring to ask.

“What did they say?”    

“The usual things that parents say to me when a kid in my support group dies too young. _Was it our fault? Did we give up too soon? Is there anything we could’ve done differently?_ ” Neil sighed, clearly having heard these laments too many times. “When they finished crying they invited me to a private memorial service they were having for you at their home. They told me that it was something your brother had wanted to do.” 

Jesse shook his head. He knew Jake would be older now, but he was still picturing his tiny kid brother in a dark suit directing a little funeral service in their backyard, giving some perfectly written little eulogy for the dumb druggie family outcast and then playing a sad tune on the flute or the violin or whatever other instruments he had learned by now. _Poor Jake_ , thought Jesse. He’d spent his whole life helping their parents to get over their first son.

“And you went?” Jesse asked.

Neil nodded. “I went.”

He said no more than that and Jesse felt it would be too creepy to ask for further details on his own memorial service. Neil took the empty glass and salad bowl from the table asking if Jesse was still hungry. After talking about Andrea, Jesse really wasn’t. That was when Neil said that Jesse could go upstairs and shower if he wanted. Jesse almost started crying again with gratitude. Even if Neil called the cops while he was showering, Jesse still felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to get arrested while he was covered in grime and stank of a week’s worth of sour sweat. It had been days since his escape but Jesse still had that meth lab smell in his nostrils. He wondered if it would ever really fade.    

Neil guided Jesse up the stairs, through his bedroom and the accordion door that led to his shower. Neil folded the door behind him, giving Jesse some privacy while he peeled away his black shirt and combat pants, shedding them like an old skin. When Jesse stepped under the gushing water it felt... _shit_ , it felt like a baptism. Like God was reaching down to wash him, to warm him, to give him this one last moment of mercy. Neil’s coconut shampoo smelled so good Jesse could have eaten it. He clutched a creamy bar of soap in his hands and scrubbed himself raw. When he was done washing, Jesse just let his hands slide over his own naked skin...this weak helpless body that he had been wanting to escape for months. It was all still here. He was in one piece. It was safe to be naked again.            

After drying, Jesse wrapped himself in the bathrobe that Neil had left for him and he stood before the mirror that hung over the sink. He forced himself to look at his hated reflection. He scratched at his bearded cheeks and his fingers traced the lines of his old wounds. He wished he could rip out the hair and the scar tissue and find his old face again underneath. A moment later there came a knock and Neil’s voice called to him.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jesse said, still looking in the mirror, locked in a bitter staring contest.

Neil stepped into the bathroom and stood behind Jesse, staring with him.

“Could use a shave, huh?” said Neil.

“Yeah,” Jesse said again. “Like...could I?”

Neil raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Jesse knew what he was getting at. The beard was a good disguise; easier to hide his identity with it covering his face. But what did that even matter now? Jesse just wanted to look in the mirror without scaring himself. He just wanted to be clean.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said.

Neil nodded and brought him a razor and foam. He didn’t leave Jesse alone this time. He stood very close as Jesse spread the foam over his cheeks and chin.

“What?” Jesse said after a moment. “Are you gonna watch me?”

Neil smiled a little, though his eyes were sharp and serious.

“Jesse, I have to be sure you’re not going to do anything else with the razor.”

Jesse swallowed and nodded. Suicide hadn’t actually occurred to him, not since that first night when he had been tempted to just stay in the desert, entombed in Todd’s car. It made Jesse nervous that Neil felt his situation was so dire that suicide might be a big temptation. Jesse’s hand trembled as he reached for the razor, grasping for this last bit of freedom and dignity. But he was shaking so hard. Jesse knew he was going to cut himself new scars if he tried to shave in this state. Neil placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Will you let me?” he said softly.

Jesse nodded, bitter tears stinging his eyes again. He lowered himself onto the toilet, gripping the lid and trying to hold himself still as Neil stroked the blade over his cheeks. The guy was a delicate barber to be sure, but Jesse still squirmed, desperate for the ordeal to be over with. There were still those painful associations with Todd coming to his cell to cut his fingernails and trim his beard with electric clippers, like Jesse was a mangy dog that needed grooming. Neil seemed to sense Jesse’s discomfort and finished up as quickly as possible, then handed him another towel to wipe his face clean. Neil crouched and picked up the heap of clothes, Todd’s old clothes, which Jesse had discarded on the floor.        

“I can lend you some jeans,” said Neil. “And I have some of those green shirts to spare. You know...the green shirts they give to members at the rehab centre.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Jesse. “Um, please can you throw those other clothes out?”

Neil looked down at the stinking black bundle in his hands.

“How about we burn them?” he suggested. “You know I love a good campfire.”

 

~*~

 

The hour was close to midnight and it was quiet on Neil’s street. The neighbours must have either been sleeping or watching TV in their homes not knowing that New Mexico’s most wanted fugitive was huddling before a fire in a garden nearby.  

“Does your face feel better?” asked Neil, piercing the silence between them.

For the last fifteen minutes, they’d simply been sitting together, staring down at the smoking black clothes. Jesse wished the flames could burn up his memories just as fast. It was going to take a lot more than this fire to help him feel better, but watching the clothes burn at least made him feel calm. Jesse rubbed his newly smooth chin.

“Yeah...better,” he muttered. Without the hair on his face, he could feel a little less like an escaped animal that needed to be caught and caged again.  

“You look better,” Neil assured him. “You look younger…” He paused for a moment and tilted his head before asking, “How old are you, Jesse?”

“Twenty-five,” Jesse answered automatically. Then he paused, reconsidering. “No wait, that can’t be, um...I mean, how long has it been since...”

“Since you went missing? Close to six months.”

“Right,” he said. “Twenty-six then. I’m twenty-six now.”

He’d had a birthday, Jesse realized. He’d had a birthday _in there_.  

“I was thirty-two,” said Neil tentatively.

Jesse frowned. “Thirty-two? Thirty-two when what?”

“When I went to prison,” he finished.

Jesse swallowed. He’d assumed Neil would be calling the cops on him at some point but his heart still sank to hear it confirmed. So yeah, he’d traded his freedom for a hot shower and a decent meal. Jesse guessed he probably wasn’t the first.

Still he was distracted by the perplexing thought of _Neil_ in prison. He just wasn’t the kind of dude that you pictured wearing an orange jumpsuit.

“You…you were in jail?” said Jesse.                

Neil nodded. “Yeah, Jesse. I killed my six-year-old daughter while I was high on cocaine. They don’t let you off with a slap on the wrist for that.”

Jesse winced. He was amazed that Neil could even say those words without breaking down and screaming. Jesse knew this kind of guilt, the _worst_ kind – the guilt that some innocent kid was dead and it was your fault, however accidental or unintended. Jesse didn’t dare imagine how much worse it would feel if the child was your own. 

“How much time did they give you?” Jesse asked.

“A lot,” Neil answered evasively. “I didn’t help myself by getting out on bail only to drink every day until my trial...” Neil shook his head as if in pity and confusion at his former self. “It’s funny. I was so worried about losing my freedom. But even before I lost my little girl and my wife too, through divorce…even before that, I’d been spending most of my days shut up in my house, pissing my life away. I wasn’t prepared for drying out in a jail cell but later I came to see that it was what I needed.” At this point, he smiled. “I couldn’t believe how clear my head felt afterwards. I could think again. I could write. I wrote three books while I was in prison, Jesse. I was working on the fourth when I got paroled.”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah...jail works wonders. I can’t wait to go. Look if you’re gonna dime on me, just do it. Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor.”

“I haven’t called the cops yet, have I?” Neil pointed out. “If I went for the phone now...you could probably knock me on my ass and be out the door before I could stop you. This isn’t a citizen’s arrest, Jesse. It was your choice to come to me. You said that you wanted to talk. I was your NA group leader and I don’t like failing people who come to me for help. It’s my vocation, Jesse. And my vocation is most of what I live for.”

Jesse nodded. He could understand that. Yeah, it made sense that Neil lived for his work these days. In the house, Jesse had noticed the guy had plenty of books on his shelves, but no photographs. He guessed that Neil couldn’t get another family after he’d fucked up so badly with his first one. Jesse knew that feeling only too well.  

“Just give me some _real_ advice, would you?” Jesse pleaded.

Neil held his stare. “I’m not saying it wasn’t hard. I was inside for a long time. The nature of my crime didn’t exactly make me the most popular person in there. I had to go into protective custody more than once because I kept getting beaten up in the general population. So yes, Jesse, it was hard. But it was something I had to go through.”   

Jesse snorted a laugh. “You think I give a shit how hard it is? You think it scares me? Look, any jail is going to be the sunshine holiday camp compared to where I’ve been these past months. So don’t expect me to be scared. But don’t try to sell me any silver linings either. Don’t tell me what I can look forward to when it’s over. If they put me away, I’m never coming out. I mean...you’ve heard about the stuff I’ve done, right?”

Neil raised his eyebrows. “Actually I haven’t.”

Jesse frowned. “The confession tape I did....the cops found it, right?”

“Oh yeah... _that_. Well, what they didn’t clarify in those initial news reports was that they found the disk in broken pieces. Just _pieces_ in a shoebox under one of their beds. I think the police were optimistic at first. They thought they could repair it and get the answers they needed. But since yesterday news on your tape has all gone quiet.”

Jesse frowned as he struggled to remember exactly what Todd had told him about that confession tape. He knew that they had stolen it from the Schrader house. He’d had to listen to Jack and his friends mocking him over all the things he’d said. He’d had them calling him a crybaby and a rat every time he saw them. He had a vague memory of Todd telling him he was going to melt the disk in acid. But it looked like that had been a lie. It seemed like Todd had kept the shards of his confession as his own secret treasure.      

“So...they don’t have anything on me?” asked Jesse.

Jesse should have been relieved over this, but part of him felt instantly sick and shameful. It was the same part of him that kept thinking about Drew Sharp’s parents and how they still didn’t even know what had happened to their missing kid.  

Neil shrugged. “They may have fragments, I suppose. Even if they fix the tape I think it’s questionable if it would be admissible in court. It’s my understanding that Agent Schrader was working outside the system trying to bring his brother-in-law to justice.” He paused for a moment and then added, “But the tape’s existence tells them that you were a former criminal associate of Walter White’s who came clean and was prepared to turn police witness. And I’d say the police knowing that works in your favor, Jesse.”

“No, actually, it doesn’t,” said Jesse. “Maybe if the Great Heisenberg were still alive and the cops could keep me from getting whacked long enough to do some witnessing...maybe they’d have offered me a good deal. But he’s dead now. They’re all dead. Those evil Nazi fucks, Gus Fring and crazy-ass Tuco...they were all killed before the cops could get them in lock up. Now I’m the last perp left standing. So I’m not the guy who gets off for turning snitch. I’m the guy they’ll nail it all on, okay? I’m, like...the stray goat.”   

“I think you mean scapegoat,” said Neil, though he didn’t refute the point Jesse was making. “You may be right,” he conceded. “I’ve heard the prosecution have been going after Skyler White too and that also seems to be because she’s all they’ve got.”     

Jesse frowned. “His wife? They’re trying to pin it on his wife?”

This he could hardly stomach. After all the times he’d listened to that asshole insisting he was doing it for his family...and in the end he’d just gone on the run and left his wife to carry the can? He’d left his kids to potentially look at their mom through bars? He’d left them to drown in the shit-storm he’d created? The guy had cancer and he would have croaked before he did any real time...but he’d been too pussy to go to jail for them?

“Mrs White...she didn’t even want any of this,” Jesse insisted. “She, like...she kicked him out of their house. She sent their kids away from him. She hated him so much she was literally waiting for him to die. She was, like...a victim in all this, okay?”

“Yes, a lot of people have been saying so,” said Neil. “And you know, Jesse, after your supposed death, I read a few articles speculating over whether _you_ were a victim of his too.”

Jesse shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly he felt like he was back in the old interrogation room again with Schrader’s eyes staring right into the pits of his soul.

_He really did a number on you, didn’t he?_

Jesse snorted again. “I...I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, he was your teacher, right?” said Neil. “You know I was a teacher once too. I used to teach English at a high school back in Virginia....I have to ask myself, what kind of teacher would tutor one of his students in making the perfect crystal meth?”      

“No look...I was already in the business. He might’ve blackmailed me into partnering with him, but he didn’t force me to cook. I wanted to be as good as him.”

“But our teachers can be a powerful influence, Jesse. A dangerous influence if the teacher abuses their position. Were there things he _did_ force you to do?”

Jesse didn’t know how to begin answering that question.

Neil hunched forward. “Jesse...your problem dog?”

_Fuck_. Jesse screwed his eyes shut, his heart racing. With everything else that Neil knew he guessed it wasn’t too hard to figure out. If the guy had been an English teacher then yeah, he wouldn’t have much trouble seeing through Jesse’s flimsy metaphors.    

“I...I didn’t want to...” Jesse stammered. It was the first time he’d said it. “I told him that I couldn’t do it. But he said I had to...I had to save his life.” A bitter laugh escaped his throat. “Please don’t ask me why I had to save that evil scumbag’s life.”

“I won’t ask,” said Neil. “But I’d like to know more. You know, I can remember him visiting you at the rehab center. He paid for your treatment, didn’t he? I think I might have mistaken him for your father at first. I’m guessing the two of you were close?”   

Jesse shook his head again. “I...I don’t even know anymore. Honestly, I think it was all just a lie. Like...like I think he was just using me the whole entire time...”

Neil fell silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Jesse...was it Walter White who sold you to that Aryan Brotherhood gang? Was it some form of revenge?”

Jesse flinched. “What do you know about that?”

“Only what I’ve heard on the news. There was some woman called Lydia who died in a hospital in Houston in the early hours of this morning. She’d been poisoned and she claimed that Walter White had been her killer. It was too late for the doctors to save her, but they say she made a full confession on her deathbed. Apparently she was seeking police protection for her family, fearing what revenge Walter White might take...even after his death. One of the things she admitted was that you had been held against your will and forced to manufacture meth for them. Though the police might’ve worked that one out for themselves...they found the chains, Jesse. The police know what those men did to you.”

“Yeah, so what?!” Jesse snapped. It was bad enough that he had been made a slave without people knowing about it and pitying him for it. “You expect the cops to give a shit?! I’m the bad guy, aren’t I? I cooked a lot of meth when I wasn’t being forced to, so being leashed to a lab is exactly what I deserve. That’s what they’ll say! That I got what I earned. And they’d be right. I...I’ve accepted that. It’s all about self-acceptance, right?”      

Neil winced to hear his own words being spat back at him.

“Did you really think that’s what I meant by self-acceptance, Jesse? Did you think I’d want you to accept that every bad thing that happens to you is a punishment you deserve?”

Jesse shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean...it makes sense...”

“Wow...” Neil said flatly. “Looks like you’ve had more than one shitty teacher.” He moved around the fire and placed his hand on Jesse’s arm. “There’s one thing that you really do need to accept, but I realize it might take time. What those men did to you...it wasn’t something that you deserved. It’s not something that _any_ human being deserves.”

Jesse tried to interrupt. “You don’t know what I...”

“You didn’t deserve to be tortured,” Neil insisted. And when he said it, when he _actually_ said the word, Jesse flinched and tried to pull away. But Neil held on tight to his arm. “You can’t hide the fact that they tortured you, Jesse. It’s all over your face. It was in your voice when you told me they made you watch as they killed Andrea.” Neil’s hand moved from Jesse’s arm to his shoulder. “Whatever you’ve done wrong...it doesn’t justify the wrongs that have been done to you. You have to learn to separate the two and I...I don’t know if I can help you with that. I only have experience in counselling people through drug and alcohol recovery. I’m out of my depth with victims of torture. There are serious physical and psychological problems that come from your experiences and...I think you need help, Jesse. Professional help. Honestly, I’m afraid that you won’t survive without it.”   

Jesse opened his eyes, letting his tears fall and meeting Neil’s stare.

“Seriously...” Jesse rasped, “...who’s going to help me?”

“Mental health care is a requirement in the prison system,” Neil persisted. “I can’t say there haven’t been cases of neglect, but I know a fair number of human rights groups that would raise a stink if a person like you went without therapeutic treatment. You’re not a person who can easily be ignored, Jesse. I mean...you’re kind of famous.”

Jesse frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Neil hesitated before saying it, “Let me put it this way...earlier today I was reading an article that was speculating over who was going to play you in the movie.”

“Shit,” Jesse blinked. “I mean...what the hell?”

“This is a high profile case,” Neil continued, “The most infamous this city has seen. Before this week not a lot was known about Walter White...he was an alleged drug dealer who had gone on the run after allegedly murdering his DEA brother-in-law. His wife couldn’t give the police anything more than that and this Heisenberg legend was all just urban myth. Until that business with the machine gun, of course. Now it’s the big story. And everyone knows you’re the one who can tell that story. It means you’ll be getting a lot of attention and not all of it will be negative. It means you’ll have your pick of the lawyers. That old news story about you throwing millions of dollars out of your car window? That tells people you’re not the usual sort of criminal. It might make for a strong defence.”  

“You mean, like...special treatment? That’s not really fair...”

Neil sighed. “Jesse, there’s a great deal about your situation that isn’t fair. Please allow for some of the unfairness to work to your advantage. Listen, I can’t say for sure what is going to happen. I can tell you the reform system worked for me and so I have some degree of faith in it. But I can’t make any promises.” Neil stared into the fire. “Personally I’d like to think that the police have piled up enough dead drug dealers that they don’t need a scapegoat. I think what they really need is the truth. And not just to wrap up their case files. I’m sure there are a lot of families still waiting for the truth about what happened to their lost loved ones. You might be the only person left who can give them that truth.” 

Jesse thought again about Drew Sharp’s parents. He thought about Mike’s granddaughter and Hank Schrader’s wife. He...he thought about Brock. He wondered if the truth was too terrible.

“What if I can’t?” Jesse asked, shuddering. “What if I can’t do it?”

Neil exhaled and then answered, “You could still run. If you want to leave right now, I won’t stop you. You could do what it takes to survive. You could keep your secrets and never tell anyone your real name. You could hide your pain and guilt from the world, so nobody ever knows what you did or what you’ve been through. But that’s another kind of prison, Jesse. One I’ve been inside myself. And I know which prison is worse...”

Jesse stared down at the smouldering ashes of their fire. The dancing orange flames had long since died away and the air was chilly around them. He shivered, rose to his feet and stamped out the last of the fading red embers. Neil stood up with him.

“Jesse, what are you thinking?” he pressed.

“I...I think I’m tired,” he said.

~*~

Jesse was still a prisoner in his sleep. At least when he was awake Jesse had his imagination. He had learned how to use his daydreams as a refuge, as a little airy pocket in his mind where he could still breathe and be free. But in his sleep, when his subconscious took over, Jesse would feel the chains again – heavier than before, dragging him to his knees. He would feel the shadows of rusty iron bars striping his skin. And on the worst nights he’d feel Mr White’s arms wrap around him again, binding Jesse to his chest.  

Jesse flinched and gasped awake. His dreams of flying bullets and falling bodies still echoed in his conscious mind. The bedclothes were twisted around him and clammy with cold sweat. Jesse rubbed his raw tired eyes. He often felt more exhausted after his nightmares than he did after long periods of insomnia. He thought he could hear voices. And then, as if it had been summoned, Mr White’s voice was hissing in his mind again.

_You wouldn’t last a week in prison, Jesse_ , it said. _Remember you’re a coward. Remember that there’s still another way out. All you have to do is find his razor..._

Jesse wrapped his own arms around his knees and squeezed.

“I’ve survived worse than jail,” Jesse whispered. “I survived _you_.”

With that, Jesse climbed out of bed, slipped on his shoes and headed downstairs. Neil had taken the couch last night and insisted Jesse sleep in his bed, despite Jesse’s protests. Now Neil was busying himself in the kitchen, pouring a brew from his kettle. He turned from the counter and approached Jesse with a steaming mug in his hand. 

“I made you some super antioxidant green tea,” Neil said brightly.

Jesse smiled and resisted the urge to say _of course you did._

“You still look a little pale and feverish, Jesse. Did the sleep help at least?”

“Yeah, it helped,” he lied, sitting on the couch. “So um...Neil, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” said Neil, crossing his arms and remaining on his feet.

“It’s just that...given my current situation,” Jesse stared into his tea and then he forced the words out. “Do you think it’s stupid that I don’t just off myself?”

Jesse expected Neil to be shocked, but he barely blinked.

“No, it’s not stupid,” he answered calmly. “I think it’s brave. I admire you for it and I hope that others will too. You still have reasons to live, Jesse.” 

“Yeah, like what exactly?” He was honestly clueless.

Neil took a seat on the edge of the coffee table. “Jesse, remember when you asked me how I don’t hate myself? It wasn’t just realizing that my self-hatred achieved nothing. It’s seeing that I could still have a purpose. I can still help people. I can be a walking cautionary tale. As long as you have purpose, then you have a reason to keep going.”

Jesse rubbed his head again and decided it was entirely too early for this soul searching crap. He glanced at Neil’s TV in the far corner of the living room.

“Has there been any more news?” he asked.

He nodded. “It’s a non-stop train.”

Neil lifted the remote and switched on the set. Sure enough the first image that filled the screen was a close up shot of Mrs White, looking pale and harassed, as reporters swarmed around her, blaring questions and toting microphones in her face. 

In her arms, Mrs White was carrying a small black urn.

Jesse felt a chill run through him. “Is that...?”

“Yes,” said Neil. “She cremated him this morning. No talk of a funeral. Well, not for him at least.” Jesse shot Neil a questioning look and he continued, “They finally found the bodies of those two missing DEA officers. She says he visited her the morning before he died. He gave her coordinates to the place in the desert where they were buried.” 

Jesse kept staring at Mrs White’s bitter yet resigned face as she moved silently through the media mob. She made it to a car where a teenage boy sat waiting behind the wheel and a baby girl could be glimpsed at in a car seat in the back. Then suddenly the news story moved to other footage. It was night and they were showing close ups of a house; a house that Jesse recognized though he had never seen it looking like this before.     

“Hey...turn it up would you?” said Jesse, leaning forward.

Neil raised the volume so the news reader’s voice was clear. 

_“...police were called to the former White family residence in the early hours of this morning. The house on Negro Arroyo Lane had been broken into during the night by a crowd of vandals and drug abusers who were caught smoking Walter White’s signature blue meth on the premises. After neighbours alerted police to this intrusion...”_

Jesse stopped listening to the report and focused on what he was seeing on the screen. The word ‘Heisenberg’ was sprayed in garish yellow graffiti on one of the walls. Methheads were huddling together on the squalid floor, clutching their glass pipes and their last fistfuls of blue crystal until cops dragged them to their feet and put them in cuffs. Jesse recognized several of their faces. He knew these tweekers. They had been his customers. Jesse’s heart caught in his chest as he saw a tall boy in a knitted hat being marched towards one of the squad cars. Jesse closed his eyes as heard Badger yelling out, _“Yeah Heisenberg!”_

It looked like Walter White had got his funeral after all.

“Can you switch it off please?” Jesse muttered.  

He heard the TV go mute. He opened his eyes to meet Neil’s stare.

“What are you thinking, Jesse?” Neil asked.

The same question as last night, the one Jesse still hadn’t answered properly.

“I’m thinking that he always _fucking_ wins,” Jesse hissed in frustration. “I mean, even when he’s _dead_...they’re praising his name like he was some sort of hero.”

Neil shrugged. “That’s the legend he made for himself on his last day. He made himself the outlaw hero of the recession...a man who fought back against cancer and our crippling health care system and tried to provide for his family. And now they’re saying that he didn’t kill his brother-in-law either. No, the latest story is that he died in the act of avenging Hank Schrader’s death, gunning down his murderers. Oh...and rescuing his former student too.”   

Jesse cringed again. “They’re seriously saying that?”

Neil nodded solemnly. “They seriously are.”

“Well, it’s _bullshit_!” Jesse snarled, balling his fists. Of all the humiliations he had suffered in the last few months being portrayed as Walter White’s damsel in distress felt like the worst of them. “That man didn’t save me, alright. He told them to kill me. He let them...” _Fuck it_ , he was going to say the word, “He let them take me and _torture_ me. He made me lose my mind. He made me a slave, a chained up fucking dog. He ruined every part of my life, took away _everything_ that I cared about. And he...he got away with it.”  

His voice cracked and hot tears streamed down his cheeks again. Jesse didn’t care that Mr White was dead. It still felt like he was the one who got away.

Neil just sat and calmly absorbed Jesse’s rage. “I don’t know about that, Jesse. It sounds to me like you might have a purpose after all. This is the story that they are telling now because nobody has come forward to tell them anything different.”

Jesse hugged his stomach, his anger turning to panicked dread.

“Are you ready to change the story, Jesse?” Neil urged.

_Do you really want to cross me again?_ Mr White threatened in his thoughts.

“Does it look like I am?!” Jesse snapped, desperately stalling. “What if I really don’t want another police interrogation or cameras being shoved in my face? What if I just want to, you know...go away somewhere? What if I just want to be left alone?”

Neil frowned. “You want to be alone?”

_God no_ , thought Jesse, but he couldn’t say it out loud.

“I...I could still do it, right?” said Jesse, his voice airy and faint. “I could still leave here and go on the run. Or go into hiding some place. Like what if...I just went and lived in the forest for a while. Like, I could build myself a shelter out of branches, I could wash in the streams and eat wild berries, or I...I could grow my own food.”

“Do you know how to grow your own food?”

Jesse shut his eyes again and clutched himself tighter.

“Whatever. I’ll figure it out, okay? I’ll make it.”   

He flinched as he felt Neil’s hand squeezing his shoulder again.

“Jesse, listen,” he said. “Jesse, please...look at me.”

Jesse’s eyes fluttered open. He looked into Neil’s sad but resigned eyes. And suddenly he knew. He knew what Neil was going to say to him.

“I called the police twenty minutes ago,” Neil said.

Jesse felt himself nodding. That white noise was back in his ears. All his thoughts had fallen silent. Even the voice of Mr White had gone dead quiet.

“Oh,” Jesse murmured, very quiet now. “Okay...” 

“I’m sorry,” said Neil and it sounded like he meant it. “I have my own selfish reasons. I can’t be harbouring a criminal for one thing. Not with my record. And like I told you...I still regret that I didn’t get Andrea to go to the police, even though it would have been hard on her too.” Neil sighed. “I’ve no desire to betray you, Jesse. I’m trying to support you here. Honestly I...I think you made your choice when you followed me home. I think you knew what you were doing when you shaved off your beard and when you didn’t run away in the night. I think that maybe you came to me because you needed someone to help you go through with it. Because you’re scared...and I don’t blame you for being scared.”

Jesse was actually starting to feel strangely calm. He was sweating a little and his fingers shook, but the tension in him was slowly seeping away. 

“If the cops know I’m here...why aren’t they kicking your door down? Why aren’t they busting in with guns, riots shields, tear gas and all that...?”

Neil rose to his feet and parted his curtains, staring through the gap.

“There’s a police car parked outside in my drive...just one car and two officers. One of them is an APD detective named Tim Roberts. He’s been heading up the investigation on the meth lab massacre. He’s a good cop and a personal friend of the late Agent Schrader. He’s a friend of mine too. I’ve done a lot of voluntary work for him and he owes me a lot of favours. In fact it was just last month that Tim and I were working together on this year’s Fugitive Safe Surrender program at a church out in Las Cruces...”

Jesse blinked. “Fugitive safe surrender?”  

 “It’s a four day event we hold every year,” Neil explained. “We open the church doors and offer criminals a safe supportive environment to come forward and confess. We like to think it’s a win-win situation. It saves the police time and resources, not to mention that officers don’t have to risk their lives attempting arrest wanted felons. And for the people who come to us, it’s a chance to clear their conscience and stop living in fear of being hunted down. It affords them a lot of leniency when it comes to sentencing too.”

“Safe surrender,” Jesse said again. “Is...is that what we’re doing here?”

“I’d like to think so, Jesse,” said Neil. “I’ll be honest with you...most people who come to FSS and turn themselves in...their offences are far more minor. But I’d say that the worse trouble you’re in...the more integrity that it takes to come forward.”

Jesse nodded. “When are they gonna come in here and get me?”

He hadn’t looked through the window yet, but he could tell that Neil wasn’t lying about the car. Jesse just needed to know how this was all going to go down.      

“I asked Tim if they’d wait for us to come out,” Neil said. “When I called Tim earlier I told him that you were here at my house and that I thought you wouldn’t require an armed escort. Most of the other police assigned to your case are searching the roads out of town anyway. So Tim said that he and his partner would come to pick you up by themselves.” Neil paused and tilted his head. “I know that they’re cops, Jesse, but they’re human beings too. Tim has been working the crime scene. He’s seen the cell you were kept in. They don’t wish to intimidate you. They’re glad you’re still in town. They’re glad you’re talking.”

Jesse dimly remembered the last time he was arrested. There’d been two tall men grabbing his arms, yanking him up off the merry-go-round, waving a wad of cash in his face and demanding to know where it came from. He wasn’t used to gentle cops.

“So...so I just have to go out there and meet them, yeah?”

Neil nodded. “Yes. That’s how it starts.”  

Jesse swallowed. “Are...are they going to put me in cuffs?” 

He knew it would happen at some point. He just wanted to be prepared when it happened. He didn’t want to lose his shit now. He...he’d held it together so far.

Neil reached out and he took Jesse’s hand.

“I don’t think so. Not if you go out there willingly.”

_Willingly_ , Jesse thought. That made it sound like he had a choice. Well no, that wasn’t really fair. Jesse had made choices over the last few days. He liked to think they had been the right choices for once in his life, even though those choices had led him into the hands of the law, who’d take all further choices away from him...probably for a long time.

But Jesse planted his feet and he stood up. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and he didn’t shudder at the sight of himself. This was his choice. This was it.

_You either run from things or you face them_ , Jesse thought.

He let go of Neil’s hand and headed for the door.

 

Ends


End file.
